


(don't) breathe

by fshep



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles—"</p><p>“I’m having,” he interrupts, writhing senselessly.</p><p>“A panic attack. I know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	(don't) breathe

Derek is pulling into the Stilinksi driveway when Lydia calls.

“Why aren’t you and Stiles here yet?” she demands. Derek shifts his car into park and slides out, shutting the door with a huff.

“I just got to his house. There’s traffic all over town.”

“Crime scenes,” Lydia confirms. “It’s terrible. I’ve been on the verge of screaming all morning.”

Derek doesn’t know how to console her. The life of a banshee is not one he’s even remotely familiar with. Stiles had been expecting Derek, so he slips through the front door and pads up the stairs.

“We found the list. Well—a copy of it.”

He freezes, barely able to give Stiles—who’s sitting at his computer, acknowledging Derek with a nod—a halfhearted wave before, “ _What?_ ”

Stiles stands. “What, what?”

“You found the list?” Derek confirms, unable to believe their luck.

This information is like a Christmas morning for Stiles. “The list? The Benefactor’s hit list?” He flies out of the desk chair, hand reaching for the phone. Derek smoothly steps out of the way and Stiles goes stumbling past him.

“Yes,” Lydia replies primly, “and if you two don’t get your butts over here _immediately_ —"

“Wait a minute.” The urgency is familiar. Almost everything requires urgency. But this was supposed to be a simple meet-up. “Lydia. What’s the rush?”

Stiles plasters himself against Derek’s side, pressing his ear to the phone.

“The next creature on the list is a kitsune.”

Derek tenses. “Kira.”

“She needs as much protection as we can get. And that includes both you _and_ Stiles.”

Suddenly, Derek feels waves of nausea and trepidation flowing off of Stiles. Confused, he flickers his gaze to the side and watches Stiles’ expression twist into one of unease.

“Lydia,” Stiles starts, licking his lips. “What’s _after_ kitsune?”

“Stiles..."

“Lydia!”

Derek can picture the way Lydia winces. After an agonizingly long beat, she says, “Nogitsune.”

The steady thrum of Stiles’ heartbeat bursts into silence and Derek’s afraid that it _stopped_ but it’s only a second later that it continues at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings. He turns immediately to find Stiles swaying unsteadily on his feet, reaching a hand out to grasp the nearest piece of furniture to gather himself.

Derek clenches the phone in his hand. “Lydia,” he says, interrupting what she’d been trying to say next.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Stiles slides down to the floor, breathing unevenly. He inhales sharply before doing something akin to hyperventilating and Stiles is a _human_ , Derek doesn’t know how to help, he can’t just break one of his limbs and hope for the best.

“I think he’s having a panic attack.”

“Stiles?” she clarifies needlessly, sounding concerned, but strangely calm. In fact, she says, “Relax,” like Derek is the one panicking. “I’ve helped him through one before. You can do it too.”

“How?” he asks, frustrated that he even has to.

And that’s where she staggers. “I—I don’t know, last time I just kissed him!”

He narrows his eyes, dropping to a crouch in front of Stiles. “You _what_?”

“He held his breath! Holding your breath stops a panic attack.”

“So, what, am I just supposed to suffocate him?” he snaps. The stress of the situation is getting underneath his skin; he feels pressured for time. Instead of listening to what Lydia has to say, he sets his phone down onto the floor and reaches for Stiles, awkwardly letting his hand hover over his shoulder.

Stiles isn’t looking at him. His eyes are squeezed shut and his only sounds are the puffs of breath forced between his lips.

“Stiles—"

“I’m having,” he interrupts, writhing senselessly.

“A panic attack. I know.”

Stiles opens his eyes, still struggling.

“I need you to hold your breath. Can you do that? Stiles?” And when Stiles doesn’t respond, Derek picks up the phone again to hear Lydia screeching _for God’s sake, Derek! Just kiss him!_ And so he does.

His hand fits neatly along Stiles’ jaw and he presses his lips firmly to Stiles’, trusting that Lydia knows what the hell she’s talking about. He doesn’t exactly relax, but he _does_ hold his breath, so Derek allows himself to hope that this is really going to work.

Stiles’ hands lift and grasp Derek’s biceps like a lifeline. He leaves them there, exhales shakily, and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

That’s when Derek rears back, lifting the phone up to his ear and wincing at the sound of Lydia’s tinny voice. “ _Tell_ me what’s going on—"

“He’s alright,” Derek says, watching Stiles’ hands retreat from their hold and settle quietly in his lap. “We’ll be over as soon as we can. Call me if something happens.”

Before she can protest, he ends the call and slips his phone into his back pocket. Stiles is looking directly at Derek, but his fingers are tapping one at a time against his thighs, and Derek knows from experience that he’s counting them. When Stiles notices Derek watching, he clenches his fists and falls still.

“If there’s another—if… whatever’s going on—we won’t let it get to you. To _anyone_ ,” Derek insists quietly. “And if it’s not us, it’ll be someone else. If the Benefactor has it on its hit list, it’ll be a race to see who can kill it first.”

He’s telling Stiles what he already knows, but sometimes it’s nice to hear it said by another voice.

“You kissed me,” Stiles says. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Derek shifts his position, half-shrugging. “Lydia.”

Stiles nods. “Well, thanks. I guess. Sorry you had to deal with that just to—" He waves his hands around in some kind of vague gesture that Derek, surprisingly enough, can translate.

He huffs quietly, averting his eyes to the ground. “Believe me, it wasn’t exactly a hardship.”

As Derek lifts himself back up, Stiles’ eyes go as wide as saucers. “Wait, what? What did you say?” He scrambles to stand and as soon as he’s on two feet he nearly topples over again—but Derek had been anticipating the clumsiness so he’s there, keeping him upright with a solid grip on both forearms.

They’re close. Stiles’ eyes flicker down to Derek’s mouth, unsubtle as always.

“Stiles—"

“Maybe you should do it again,” he suggests. “I’m still feeling a little—can you hear my heartbeat? Shit’s in overdrive.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Derek says, tilting his chin and leaning forward, “that’s because of this.”

Stiles’ lashes flutter as he blinks, and when his mind catches up with the situation, his lids lower. “Probably,” he concedes.

Derek’s phone goes off, then, and the corner of his lips twitch into something amused. He reaches for the device and answers it, immediately subjected to Lydia’s lecturing about how she _wasn’t done talking_ and there are _more important things to worry about_ which must be an implication of some sort that has nothing to do with Stiles’ panic attack.

He dutifully chooses to ignore it.

“We’re on our way,” he reports, one of his hands slipping from Stiles’ forearms to lace their fingers together.


End file.
